


Thrawn/Pellaeon Drabble Meme

by jhdrabbles (jaclynhyde)



Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jhdrabbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Call me, mourn me, enamor me, paint me, wed me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrawn/Pellaeon Drabble Meme

**Author's Note:**

> Five Thrawn/Pellaeon drabbles (plus one more), requested for a [Tumblr drabble meme.](http://jaclynhyde.tumblr.com/post/102205666083/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt) They aren't connected, but some may be in the same universe.
> 
> Feel free to dump more drabble requests in my ask box, for this pairing or anything else I seem vaguely into!

**I. Call Me**

Lieutenant Tschel's salute was sloppy, probably because he looked one sudden noise away from escaping offworld. "Sir, there's a--" He makes a thoroughly unilluminating gesture. "An alien. He's asking to see you. And he's--"

A _Grand Admiral_.

Pellaeon stands at attention as the alien steps towards him. Blue skin, glowing red eyes, and yet--

He hadn't thought Senior Captain Thrawn would look so--human.

"Captain Pellaeon," he says, voice as smooth and dark as it had been over the comlink.

"Grand Admiral," Pellaeon says, and looking into those eyes is like staring into a star. "It's good to finally meet you."

 

**II. Mourn Me**

The Empire held a grand funeral for the idea of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

The humans in attendance were in full mourning: banners dimmed, black dress, even tears from those who would not lose face for it.

The greatest remaining military minds of the Empire spoke of his brilliance, his unparalleled genius for tactics, his glorious plans to crush the Rebellion.

The Empire held a grand funeral for the death of their dreams, of their way of life, of their last hope for the galaxy.

Alone in his quarters, Gilad Pellaeon whispered a short goodbye to a man he barely knew.

 

**III. Enamor Me**

"Admiral," Thrawn asks, "What, precisely, is this?"

That wasn't exactly the reaction he was hoping for. "A traditional Ishi Tib sculpture. Or...so the merchant told me."

Thrawn raises an eyebrow at the traitorous sculpture, turning it over in his hands. "It's a mass-produced souvenir portraying a Coruscanti's idea of what Mon Calamari sculpture looks like."

"It…" Well, Pellaeon might as well be honest. "It made me think of you." He can only give a rueful smile. "Perhaps I should have gone with flowers."

"No," says Thrawn, with a small smile. "I rather like what it tells me about you."

 

**IV. Paint Me**

"It is art in its own way." Thrawn's brow furrows; Gilad resists the urge to tease him over his inability to analyze a garden. He ushers Thrawn into the greenhouse, knowing Thrawn will feel the chill less than he does.

He may have trouble reading his slightly alien expressions, even after all these years, but he can still tell the moment Thrawn realizes the small blue wildflowers are native to Csilla.

And when he takes in the white roses and scattered red creepers; when he knows that Gilad has painted him a picture, as clear as any piece of art.

 

**V. Wed Me**

"You've never been married. I find it hard to believe you never found the right woman before." Thrawn looks at the ring, steadily, focusing on identifying its artistic influence rather than its significance.

Gilad laughs softly. "Oh, I did. She wouldn't have me." He meets Gilad's eyes, then, and he finds it surprisingly easy to stop analyzing and simply focus on how beautiful they are. "I want to stay with you, my dear. For as long as we have left."

"You're rather fatalistic for a hopeless romantic," Thrawn says, carefully blinking back sudden tears. And in Cheunh, he whispers, "Yes."

 

**Bonus: Meet Me**

My friend Sherlock Holmes was uncharacteristically quiet on the occasion of meeting this particular new client, more demon than man.

Holmes, I deduced, did not know how to proceed. The dust from the man's boots, the calluses on his fingers: none of the clues matched his knowledge.

"You are an artist," said he, far less self-assured than usual.

"No," said the creature, frowning at another of our paintings.

I myself was far more comfortable addressing the creature's mustachioed companion. "Tea?" I asked.

His face relaxed into a smile, one that I could not help but return. "I would be delighted."

 


End file.
